Letter #6

“I don’t know” she said, shaking her head and looking embarrassed. Alex spoke to the proprietor in Chechewa. Words went over and back between them, then he turned to me. “There isn't any food” he said. Not quite getting what this meant, I said: ” What do you mean there isn’t any food?” “There isn’t any food, she hasn’t got any eggs, or scones” Alex added.
“But I told her we were coming yesterday and asked her if she could get eggs and scones, and she said yes; and when we arrived this morning she said nothing, she just kept us hanging around. Where is she, I want to talk to her?” I said.
What really bothered me wasn’t that I hadn’t got my breakfast or that I' had been mislead and my time wasted, but that an opportunity was being squandered. I encountered this same kind of lethargy on the other side of the Lake on Likoma Island, where a charity had set up a beach restaurant. It even had an oven for baking bread, but every time I went there it was either closed, or no fire was going. On my last attempt I met the young woman who managed it, and she told me that the staff were lazy and often just didn’t turn up. It was hard to believe that such things could happen in a land where so many people were living from hand to mouth.

Alex’s sister, though lacking in ambition wasn’t lethargic and she could cook. So I thought why not set up a restaurant on the beach in Ruarwe and she could do the cooking. Of course, some initial investment would be needed, so I asked her to think about how much money she would want to get started. She didn’t get back to me, but now that Alex was involved things would be different, because he would get on with it and make it happen, or so I hoped. Tingles of excitement ran through me at the thought, but could I a struggling artist afford to foot the bill?

Letter #5

I looked at my watch, and over an hour had passed since a limp hand and toothy smile had welcomed us. We had been waiting over an hour and they hadn’t lit the fire yet, which meant we would be waiting for the fire to get going before they even start cooking.” I was getting exasperated and probably should have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, but couldn’t because I was getting angry. To calm things down I reminded myself that in Africa things happened differently, and so to make the best of waiting I talked with Alex about his new artistic journey. It proved to be an ample diversion and we both managed to lose ourselves, but without a cup of tea to wet our lips time began to drag, and our attention turned once more to the empty table in front of us. My stomach growled with hunger, and to get away from the stifling, claustrophobic interior of the restaurant, I decided to go and see for myself what was happening in the kitchen.

"Letter" #4

At the end of the letter Alex made a plea for financial support to set up a beach restaurant. There was only one place in Ruarwe serving food; a small mud-brick establishment on the outskirts of the village, so to have another one wasn't a bad idea, especially in light of what happened one morning when we turned up for breakfast to find ourselves left hungry and disappointed. In spite of having made an arrangement on the previous day, nothing had been prepared. As we entered the dim interior we were met by the proprietor with a smiling face and a limp handshake. We sat down and waited for our order of omelettes, scones, boiled pumpkin leaves and tea to arrive. In Africa it was normal to wait for things, so after a while when our order hadn’t arrived we decided to hang on a bit longer. At that time Alex’s sister was employed as cook. She seemed passive and gentle natured. I new she had worked for a while at one of the lodges cooking for white people, so I felt fairly confident that when the food did arrive it would be good. To distract myself from the hard chair I was sitting on I looked at advert pages torn from magazines decorating the walls. Alex decided to go and find out what was happening in the kitchen, stooping his head through the low, narrow doorway, he darkening room momentarily, as he disappeared outside. I could hear some kind of discussion going on, and though curious I decided to stay put. When Alex came back looking frustrated and a bit annoyed, he said: “they haven’t made a fire yet.”

"Letter" #3

There were four paintings in Alex’s letter. One was a copy of the photograph I had sent him. He said, in slightly broken English:
“ The portrait of Cliff Clipps and myself was very difficult to made. I did it four times to make it and the fifth one has been successful. But I am trying best to know better the water colors.”
Unfortunately there was a crease down the middle where it had been folded to fit in the envelope. I made a mental note to tell him not to do this in future. It was surprisingly accomplished, and the attention to detail was astonishing. Even though the use of paint showed inexperience, the overall effect was strong. In any case what was lacking would come in time, with practice and my guidance. I was impressed with this painting, especially at Alex’s perseverance; I mean, five attempts.
The other paintings were simple village scenes, and all but one showed real strength in composition, color and skill with materials. Later in the letter Alex wrote:
“I am spending all my time studying art, you know here there is nothing to work on, so art is my everything and in art I am having all hope to success and I will make it. I started painting shop doors and windows. As of now I have painted three shops and do lettering too. I have not been successful this time since I sold postcards to the mzungus (white people), no mzungus have arrived.”

"Letter" #2

In the parcel I had sent Alex there was a set of water colours, some good quality brushes, drawing paper, watercolor paper and a folder with plastic sleeves that contained reproductions of etchings by Rembrandt and drawings by Van Gogh and Matisse, so that he could begin to appreciate, and learn from the great masters of Western art. In addition, there was a copy of Johannes Itten’s colour wheel, and a sheet of my teaching notes, entitled The Elements of Visual Art and Four Principles of Composition. I had also included a photo of him standing side by side with Cliff Clipps, looking vibrant and handsome, with broad smiles showing off bright white teeth that shone magnificently against rich warm chocolate color of their faces. Whenever I looked at this photograph, which was pinned to my studio wall, I was amazed at the bright, happy energy it gave off; the great souls of these two young men, as they stood swelled with pride in front of the camera. In the letter I sent with the parcel I suggested that it might be a good exercise to make a painting from this photograph.

"Letter" #1

I received a letter from Alex today. According to the post mark it had taken almost a month to arrive, giving me an idea of the distance it had travelled, from Ruarwe village on the remote northern shore of Lake Malawi, to the capital city of the UK. He said he had received my parcel safely.

“I am happy as never before. The gifts of water colors, brushes, papers and portfolio you have sent me really excite me, much that I don’t know how to thank you. It’s the first time to receive such gifts, and even to use watercolors and such beautiful brushes. May God Bless You”.

Knowing he had received the parcel gave me a warm glow, and I saw him in my mind dancing barefoot on the sand, shouting with excitement, as I had seen him do before when he had just won a big game of bao; and again the last time I saw him, as I looked back from the boat the day I left Ruarwe. He was with Cliff Clipps, the money I’d given him for paints pressed into his hand; dancing and shouting, so excited he forgot to wave goodbye.

"Canoe Trip" #4

I looked around to find Alex lying on his back, with his hands behind his head and legs akimbo; resting his feet on either end of the paddle that was laid crossways on the canoe. I had to laugh. It would have made a good drawing, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been drawing him instead. But it was a shame that in the excitement of the moment I forgot to take a photograph.

A couple of young boys, with nothing better to do than to satisfy their curiosity, paddled out in a canoe to see what we were up to. Alex seized the opportunity and asked them to position themselves so I could include them in the drawing. I wanted to capture the dramatic, head on perspective of the canoe as it came towards us, but we drifted and the moment passed, so I had to settle for a side on view that allowed me to add some detail to the boys, but I was disappointed at missing the opportunity of a more dynamic composition. My energy was all but used up, and as concentration levels fell I realised how stiff my back and shoulders were. One cheek of my rear end had gone completely numb. I put down the pencil and pad, lifted and rolled my shoulders, stretched out my back, and stretched out my legs. I was done. When we got ashore, as we hauled the canoe up the beach something gave way in my lower back, and a deep spasm of pain ran close to the spine on the left side. I pretended to lift but my strength was gone. A fisherman came to help. I straighten up, but knew something was wrong. ‘It isn’t that bad, just give it a few days and you’ll be fine’, I said to myself reassuringly, as I walked stiffly up the beach and sat down on the sand to recover from the shock.